DARK SHADOWS: Dial Me for Murder
by IBarnabas
Summary: Set nearly two decades before the events of the first episode, this story will lead you to a man who has awakened to find himself in an unfamiliar place and no memory of who he is. Journey along with him as he pieces together the clues to discover the mystery of what has happened to him, and how Paul and Elizabeth Stoddard and a young woman named Betty Hanscombe may be involved.
1. Prologue

**Dark** **Shadows**: **Dial** **Me** **for** **Murder**

**PROLOGUE**

by iBarnabas

_The continuity of the beginning episodes of Dark Shadows changed throughout as writers exchanged hands and ideas to alter the direction of the series, leaving many unanswered questions for us to piece together ourselves. One of the largest mysteries that fans have often debated is the origin of Victoria Winters and the events that led to her coming to Collinsport in 1966._

_Set nearly two decades before the events of the first episode, your journey to discover the answers will lead you to a man who has just awakened to find himself in a place unfamiliar to him with absolutely no memory of who he is. Follow along with him as he pieces together the clues to discover the mystery of what has happened to him, and also, how Paul Stoddard, his wife Elizabeth, and a young girl named Betty Hanscombe may be involved._

_This story was originally published in a 50th anniversary DARK SHADOWS digital fanzine created by Mina and MadMargaret in 2016. Extra special thanks for permission to add my story to my fanfiction site._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

With an explosion of pain and sharp ringing in his ears, his limp body began to slowly scoot backwards across the damp floor of broken tile. He struggled to focus his eyes as the dark room swirled in unstable motions. In front of him was a tattered trench coat thrown over the bathroom stall door. His fingers pressed hard against the tile to raise himself to a sitting position in front of the porcelain fixture.

Sitting still for a moment and trying to catch his breath, the man looked down at his hands as they swirled in and out of focus. As his vision slowly steadied, he noticed that his right arm was covered in blood from the bend of his arm leading all the way down to his fingertips. Gasping in horror, he tried to stand. Nausea and pain kept his coordination slow and weak. His right hand gripped the toilet paper fixture and his left hand pressed against the side of the stall. Struggling to lift his own frame, he groaned loudly in pain as his legs wobbled to a semi-standing position. He grabbed the blood-smeared toilet paper and tried to wipe his hands with little success as the blood was still oozing freshly from a puncture wound in his arm.

_Click!_

The latch holding the door together was loosened and the man stumbled across the floor to a dirty sink. He found a bar of soap and scrubbed his hands and arms, watching the water below swirl down the drain in a light red color. He found some brown paper towels and patted the areas dry. After wrapping several of the paper towels around his wound, he looked back at the trench coat thrown over the door. The room was very cold and his body felt chilled to the bone, but his head and face burned hot as from a fever.

After walking a few steps, he stumbled and fell into the stall door, knocking the coat on to the floor. He rolled over on his stomach and pushed against the floor with all of his might to bring himself to sitting on his knees. After taking a deep breath, he grabbed the door handle of the stall with one hand and the trench coat with the other and pulled himself back up. His arms went through each sleeve slowly and one at a time. He saw a mirror hanging on the wall with the bottom right corner missing, and slowly made his way forward to look at himself. Grabbing the mirror frame and pulling it from the wall, he gasped in horror.

The face in the mirror was a complete stranger! He had no memory whatsoever! He stared deeply at the face in the reflection and struggled to recall a faint glimmer of his identity—a childhood memory, his name, where he lived, anything at all—with no success. He dropped the mirror and gripped the sides of his long dark hair in frustration as the glass shattered and cracked on the floor.

On his way to the door, he paused. He wondered if someone was waiting outside for him. Slowly turning the knob to lower the reverb of the creaking, he peered into the dark hallway in front of him and peered silently. He stood and watched for several moments before making a sound.

Once again, he inhaled deeply and decided to brave the hallway. The rumble of thunder echoed throughout the corridor, and the sound of rain roared heavily upon the roof. His foot scuffed across a fedora hat lying on the ground in front of him. He slowly bent over to pick up the hat and dust it off. He placed it on his head and reached into his coat pocket. He felt a couple of objects inside the left pocket and pulled them out to examine them.

In his hand, he held an old worn-out wallet and a small flashlight. He flipped the switch and peered inside the wallet. There were twenty $100 bills inside and a movie ticket stub for Secret Beyond the Door, starring Michael Redgrave and Joan Bennett. These names didn't mean anything to him, and he had no idea where all of the cash had come from. Folded between the bills was a slip of paper:

_IOU: E. Stoddard $5,000 _

He struggled to recall any memory and only drew blanks. Shining his flashlight forward, he slowly walked down the hallway. His head began to throb more intensely and he fell against the wall and raised his hands to his temples. A sharp pain was piercing through both sides and through his forehead, and a loud drone echoed deeply within his ears. Trying his best to shake it off, he regained his balance and stepped forward. The beam of his flashlight caught a large wooden sign on the wall:

_The Blue Whale _

The smell of mold and rotting wood began to permeate his senses as his feet slowly creaked across the splintered wooden planks on the floor. He shined his light around the room and saw a bar with dozens of bottles lined across the shelves behind the counter. Also in view were several tables in a large dining room. However, he froze with panic when the flashlight beam caught something in the far corner of the room.

Lying on the top of a table was the body of a beautiful young woman soaked in blood and a large wound on her chest like a bullet hole.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Staring in horror and shock, he covered his mouth. Wrestling back and forth with many questions as to what he should do, he pondered:

_Should I go near her? What if someone is watching me? Who is she? Who did this?_

The feeling of nausea swelled more deeply in his stomach with knots as a horrible thought filled his damaged mind—Could I have done this?

Suddenly, a swirling of red and blue flashing lights danced across the walls. He switched off his flashlight and dropped down to the ground. Stuffing the flashlight quickly into the inside pocket of his coat, his fingers brushed against something made of cold steel. His fingers gripped around the handle of the object as he pulled it out. In his hand, he held a .38 caliber pistol. His eyes grew wide with horror as it fell to the ground with a loud cluttering sound. Holding his breath, he waited for the loud bang to follow.

Nothing.

He pulled the pistol back and began to pant as he held it in his hand. Sliding the chamber open, he saw that there were no bullets left inside. The barrel still felt warm as if the weapon had been fired just somewhat recently. As the swirl of red and blue lights faded from the walls, he stood back to his feet. He had no idea who this dame was. She was a raven-haired broad with very pronounced cheek bones and a soft, beautiful face. However, he felt no memory spark when he looked at her. He tried his best to remember while also trying to figure out what he should do.

He thought to himself,_ If I stay here, the cops will think I killed this girl. I can't just leave her here, though. What if I killed her? What if I shot her with this gun? Think, THINK!_

He dared not walk to the door or by any of the windows, so he knelt down and shined his flashlight with his hand covering the front to dim the beam. Near the back corner of the dining room, he caught sight of a door. Turning off the light, he made a break for it as quickly as his condition allowed.

Feeling the effects of whatever was making him so ill, he scattered across the floor in a stupor. He peered through the crack of the open door and saw a small backstreet in front of him. A steady rain was splashing on the ground. Near the door was a parked black sedan.

Looking both ways to make sure no one else was watching him, he stumbled to the driver's side door, which was unlocked. He plopped down on the seat, holding his  
stomach and rubbing his right temple. He looked around for any clues as to what was going on or who he was, but  
there was nothing immediately available. He reached for the glove box handle, and a tiny black purse rolled onto the passenger floor. As he leaned forward to pick it back up, he held it out towards the dash so the water dripping from his clothes would not ruin whatever he might find inside.

Rummaging through the contents, he found a driver's license with an address in Logansport, Maine, issued to Betty Hanscombe, and a money order written for $500 to the same name was folded inside. The money order was signed, _P. Stoddard._

"Stoddard?" He paused as a recognizable voice and conversation flashed through his mind.

"As we discussed, I'm paying your fee first with a little extra. As soon as you come back when the job is completed, I'll reward you with a generous bonus. Don't come back here until it's done. I don't want to arouse any suspicion. You will speak with me and only me._" _

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Stoddard. I'll let you know and keep it quiet."

He mumbled, "Stoddard? Stoddard...that was the woman's name. Mrs. Stoddard." His mind worked furiously to piece together the blurry face with the voice. He remembered the name from the IOU in his wallet. Opening the wallet and flipping through the cash, he pulled out the IOU. He tried to reason within himself about how this name connected with him. Is this where the money came from? This money...for a job? What kind of job? Was it to murder that girl?

Anxiety began to grip tightly and burn inside his chest. His face grimaced in pain and frustration as his thoughts began to race. _What should I do? I can't remember who I am? What if I committed murder? If I go to the cops, they'll find the money on me and they'd lock me up for sure. I couldn't even go to the hospital if I knew where one was. They'd ask so many questions that I couldn't answer._

His hand slid in his pocket and felt the steel of the pistol sliding across his fingers. This gun...there's no way I can explain this. Panting heavily, he tried to calm himself down. I...I can't tell anybody or take a chance on being seen. Not until I know what's happened to me. I need to get rid of that body for now and hide it where nobody'll see it.

Looking around the street in front of him and behind, it was completely empty. He found a handle for the trunk release near the bottom of the dashboard and gave it a tug. With a slight click, he watched in the rearview mirror as the trunk door popped loose from its latch.

Carefully opening the car, he moved quietly toward the back door of the Blue Whale to peer inside again. It was just as he had left it a moment ago. The body was spread across the bloody tablecloth, the jukebox sat silently in place against the wall, and the floorboards creaked as he made his way to the victim's position. Rather than taking a chance of spilling the blood on the floor, he wrapped her in the bloody tablecloth and carried her as steadily as he could in both arms. Pressing his own weight against the door to open it, he carried the body out into the street toward the trunk. Using his knee as leverage, he raised the trunk and neatly laid the girl's body inside. Before shutting the trunk, he paused, frowning in guilt for what he was doing.

He thought to himself, _When I find out what happened to you, sweetheart, I'll make it right and make sure they get what they deserve...even if it was me that did this to you._

He carefully lowered the trunk and fastened the latch.

However, when he looked up, a man stood about a dozen yards in front of him and was making his way towards him.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Hey—hey mister, wh-what are ya doin'?" the man asked him.

Not sure what to say, he stood there making eye contact with this sudden stranger. He dared not say one word.

"What are ya deaf, mister? I said, 'whadda ya doin'?" his words slurred as he stepped closer, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. He was obviously a street bum. "Aren't ya one o' them fellas that just left here?"

Shaking his head, he replied to the vagrant. "No...no I'm not. What did you see? Were there other people that were here?"

With a loud grunt and burp, the vagrant pointed his finger. "Maybe there was—maybe there wasn't. Ya know, mister, I know my liquor, and this kind I drank tonight makes you see funny things sometimes. I dunno, maybe, maybe a dollar might sober me up some, huh? How 'bout...how 'bout it, huh?"

He backed away a couple of steps as the smell of the bum's breath certainly wasn't helping his nausea. He pulled out his wallet and the bum's crossed eyes twinkled as his mouth formed a wide toothless grin. "Hey, mister, you're loaded!"

"_Shhhhhh!_" He held his hand to his lips and whispered loudly. "Quiet! I don't want anyone to know we're here." He pulled a $100 bill from his pocket as this was all that he had available. He hated to waste so much on a tip from a googly-eyed drunk, but beggars (_when dealing with beggars_) could not be choosers. With a deep sigh, he handed the man the money. "Okay, now. Quietly, tell me what you saw."

The bum gripped the bill tightly. "Okay. There was..." he paused to count on his fingers. "One...two...yeah, okay. Two men came runnin' out that same door about fifteen or twenty minutes ago. I heard a car pullin' up, so I thought I would see if the bar was openin' back up. I came around to the corner here and heard a loud bang like a...like a..."

He finished the sentence. "Like a gunshot?"

The bum stuffed the bill inside his pants pocket, nodding in excitement. "Yeah, that's right!" "And you didn't try to find out who it was?" he asked puzzled.

"Hey, I might be drunk but I ain't no dummy, mister. If you heard a gunshot, would you stick around, huh? And what if it was just—hiccup—the thunder?" he continued. "I turned right over there by them trash cans and fell over. I looked back and saw two men runnin' out that door and down the street." He grinned again. "But they didn't see me."

"Yeah, I guess not. Well, you'd better run along, then. Thanks for your help."

The bum stood still, smiling. "Ain't ya gonna tell me what's in that trunk, mister? Ya never did tell me what—_hiccup_—you were doin' here."

"That's none of your business!" he snapped. "I gave you more than enough money, now beat it!"

Laughing giddily, the vagrant's hands went for the trunk. "Whatcha hidin' in there, mister, a dead body? Did ya kill somebody? Huh?"

He had to think fast. This drunk was getting louder, so he had only one way to scare him off for sure. With a quick reflex, he pulled the empty gun out of his pocket and pointed it right into the bum's face. "I said beat it!"

"Okay, mister! I'm s-sorry!" he turned and stumbled across the street as quickly as he could. Ricocheting from the rubber sole of the vagrant's worn shoes, a glass vial rolled across the pavement. With the bum now out of sight, he walked slowly to the vial and picked it up. There was a small amount of liquid still in the bottom, but the label was still intact: _Benzodiazepine_.

Holding the vial in his hand, he held it up to get a better look. "What's this?"

He glared at the bottle and grimaced in pain. He felt his head aching harder, and his pulse felt like it was starting to race. His dizziness returned with a vengeance, and he knew that time was quickly becoming his enemy.

Above the patter of rain and echoes of thunder, he heard sirens wailing in the distance. He stumbled to the street corner and peered around the alley. Parked near the opposite side of the Blue Whale by the Collinsport Emporium sat a taxi cab. Knowing he was too out of it to try and drive the sedan behind him, he took a chance and crossed the street.

As he walked toward the cab, he saw the hack inside with his head leaned against the window. The sound of the sirens grew closer, so he knocked furiously on the back window. "Hey, mister! Wake up! Wake up!"

The hack, startled by the sudden pounding, angrily turned toward the desperate man. "Hey, go away, you bum! Can't ya tell I'm off duty!?"

In desperation, he quickly pulled another $100 from his pocket and pressed it against the window. "Are you sure you're off duty?"

The driver sighed, and reached back and unlocked the door. "Come on."

Soaked from the falling rain, the $100 bill passed from his hand into the driver's. The driver stared at him. "Well?"

Not knowing what to say, he returned a puzzled glance. "Well, what?"

"Ahem...well, where do you want I should take ya?" He taunted him like a child. "I am a cab driver, and I take you places, see? So where do you wanna go, Mac?" he snapped angrily.

"I...I don't know. Something's happened to me; I-I don't know where I am or what my name is. I'm not sure where to go, but..." he nervously babbled.

The cabbie laughed sarcastically. "Hey buddy, you come from over there?" He asked, pointing toward the Blue Whale.

"Y-yeah, that's right." He nodded.

"Well, that explains a lot. Guess they didn't check the whole place and get rid of all the bums like you that don't know when to quit when you've had enough. Well, I'll take ya home, mister, how's that sound? Do ya remember where ya live?" the cabbie asked.

"Uh, I..." he remembered the driver's license he took from the purse. "I guess, um...this right here." From his pocket, he pulled out the woman's driver's license and read the address from Logansport. "Yeah, take me there."

"Okay, Mac. Well, since you don't remember where ya are, I'll give you the grand tour of the place." He quipped. "Oh, and uh, my name is Stiles, alright? Jimmy Stiles." With a quick pull of the meter handle, he pulled out away from the curb. "You sure ya don't wanna go to a hospital first, mister? You don't look so good."

"No, just step on it and get me there," he replied. Feeling woozy, like his head was burning hotter than ever, he sat back in his seat and held his stomach. His arms were beginning to tingle as his entire body began to ache and cramp. He couldn't stop, though. He had to find the truth before anyone else did. If anyone found out about the girl before he did, he knew there would be no way to catch up with whomever did this. He kept thinking about the bum saying how he had seen the two men running out of the Blue Whale shortly before he did.

On the meter, he saw a date above the rotating number dials—_04/24/47_. "Is that what today is?" he asked Stiles.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that's what day it is. Gee whiz, mister, what did you have to drink? Wish you could remember 'cause I sure would like a case of it after I get you home."

"I'm not going home; I-I just have a gut feeling to go here. Something's just telling me to stop there first." He looked out the window and watched lightning illuminating the sky over the roaring sea. With a bright flash, he noticed a large house that looked like a castle overlooking the ocean on a high hill. "What's that place, Mr. Stiles?"

"Only a magnet for every spook in this town, Mac." Stiles smirked. "That house is called Collinwood. That family owns this town and pretty much everyone in it. Just about all of us work for them—except me. My cab business ain't much, but it..."

"Who lives there? There's something familiar about that place," he interrupted.

"Pretty much who you would expect to live there: Some servants, a wealthy husband and wife, stuff like that. The wife actually owns the town and the mansion, but they say her husband ain't worth much, in more ways than one. She's easy on the eyes, though, I'll tell ya. Name's Elizabeth Collins- Stoddard, and her husband's name is Paul." Stiles shook his head. "Don't know what a classy broad like her saw in him, but, hey, you know rich people."

"Stoddard? Elizabeth Stoddard—E. Stoddard?" He remembered seeing the names E. Stoddard in his wallet and P. Stoddard on the money order made out to Betty Hanscombe.

"You know 'em, mister?" Stiles asked, looking back in his mirror at him.

"I don't think so. That's just the second time I heard that moniker tonight. I keep thinking I talked to someone named Stoddard, but I just can't..." he shook his head and sighed. "I can't remember."

They rode on through the streets in silence for about ten minutes. "Hey, buddy, you still alive back there?" Stiles asked.

He raised his head slightly and answered, "Yeah. I just—I just don't feel well, that's all. How much longer is it?"

"Well, it's a little out of the way, but I think we'll have to go over some rocky roads to get there, so, are ya up to it? Sure you don't want a bag or somethin' to breathe into?" Stiles halfheartedly asked.

"No, I think I'll just tough it out." He replied somberly.

"Okay, I'll try to take it slow and dodge as many o' them potholes as I can." Stiles assured him.

"Thanks, but we really need to get there quick. I don't feel like I got much time to waste. Maybe we've taken too long already, I don't know." He looked back in the direction of Collinsport worriedly, thinking about the body of that poor woman he left in the trunk. However, his concentration was interrupted by a sudden jerk of the cab tossing his body back and forth.

Stiles shouted over the loud rocking and beating of rain on the windshield. "Sorry back there, Mac. We should be off this road before you can say Ticonderoga. If you can say Ticonderoga."

For the next five hundred feet, he thought he was going to lose everything. Once the road began to smooth, he sat slumped over and dazed, holding on to his stomach with both hands. After a few winding curves out in the middle of nowhere, the cab began to slow down and park near an old wooden shack. "This is it, Mac. Need me to shine the light for you so's you can see where you're goin'?"

"No," he answered. "I'd rather you didn't. Uh, please, don't go nowhere, alright? I might need to go somewhere else."

Stiles shook his head. "It's your money, mister. I hope you got something besides this $100; it might cost a little extra. My sleep time ain't cheap, ya know."

With a sigh, he mumbled, "Don't worry. There's more."

He opened up the door and stood still to catch his breath and balance. Stepping slowly, he made it to the end of the walkway leading to the creaking boards of the wooden porch steps. He pulled open the storm door and gave the door knob a slight twist. With a loud grinding of the hinges, he slowly opened the door and went inside.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He pulled his flashlight from his coat pocket and placed his fingers over the beam again to dim the light. The first room he walked into was the kitchen. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Pots and pans covered the old walls, and recently-washed dishes were left on the drainer to dry. Despite the condition of the shack itself, it was arranged quite nicely. The table was clean and the floors well-kept.

The wallpaper was thin and of an unattractive pattern, but it was laid evenly and flawlessly. If this was where the girl lived, she took care of what little she had and made it look nice. The interior was nothing like one would expect from looking at the outside. The small shack had only three rooms: the kitchen, the bath, and the bedroom. As small as the shack was, it did feel cozy inside and smelled very pleasant.

He walked toward the bedroom and shined the beam around both sides of the mattress on the night stands. He saw different papers and a newspaper called the Collinsport Star dated _January 1, 1947_. A large circle of ink encased the title of an article: **"Retired Servant of Collinwood Found Dead"**

His eyes strained to focus on the article and skim over the contents. According to the paper, a former servant of the great house of Collinwood, Benjamin Hanscombe, was found dead in a ditch by the roadside. While no members of the Collins family could be reached for comment, matriarch Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard issued a statement of public sympathy for the man and appreciation for his many years of loyal service. While Constable Jonas Carter has been unable to confirm or deny these allegations, groundskeeper Matthew Morgan told reporters that he watched Hanscombe leaving the Blue Whale after dark, and that he was unsteady from excessive consumption. His injuries showed signs of massive blunt trauma, and the constable has ruled that it was most likely a vicious attack by a wild animal. Furthermore, the constable stated that Hanscombe "_probably never saw what hit him." _

After setting the paper down, he looked around the room. Instinct told him to check all dresser drawers and look for some kind of clue. Whether this was caused by the vial of Benzodiazepine or something else, he felt his heart racing again. Stopping to clutch his chest, a twinge of pain started burning there all the way into the fingertips of both hands. His vision began to blur again, and focusing was becoming more and more difficult by the minute. He held tightly to the top of one of the dressers, and, as soon as he let go, collapsed against the wall next to an old wooden sitting chair and slid down to the floor.

Using the chair to lift himself slowly back to his feet, he looked back and noticed something peculiar just behind the dresser. There was an 8x10 photo frame that seemed to be protruding slightly from the wall. He slid the portrait open gently and found a hollow space about eight inches deep and six inches high. Inside was a small book bound with a rubber band-like seal. The black bindings were worn as if the book had been treated quite roughly. After sliding the band back, the pages flipped open. Knowing he was on borrowed time, he wondered where he should start first.

As he skimmed through the pages of the diary, he shined the flashlight on the pages in front of him. Inside, he read through the writer's personal thoughts. At first it seemed like typical "diary banter," but he noticed something recurring throughout the pages he was flipping through. There were several mentions about a man at Collinwood who kept coming to her room secretly.

**_December 17, 1945 _**

_I've lived in this house with my mother and father my whole life, secluded from any other friends or any places outside these walls. We stay in the house as part of our position in the family, but it's been boring and lonely. I've read so many stories of other girls going to school and having friends. I am thankful for the education my mother gave to me before she died, but I know that my life will, at best, follow theirs and be the life of a servant. He promised me more. He told me that he understood how lonely I was, and that he felt lonely, too. It all seems so strange to me. I was only fifteen when he and the mistress of the house were married, but something about him always fascinated me. I always pictured falling for a reckless scoundrel like him. He is so impetuous and charming. How could someone like Mr. Stoddard be lonely? He is married to a beautiful woman, a RICH beautiful woman, with a mansion and an entire town beneath her feet. Maybe that's why. Maybe he feels like he's in her shadow. Maybe like the same way I feel that I've lived in a dark shadow beneath my parents' place in life. Is there a chance that I can be happy? Is there life for me beyond these walls as a servant or maid? I'm a fool. Of course not._

He pinched a section of pages and skipped ahead.

**_January 30, 1946 _**

_Mrs. Stoddard was at the cannery all day again, and he promised to take me riding again. We went to the stables after he told my father that he was taking me to show me how to properly tend to them. We went on a ride across the estate and Widows Hill. I haven't been this far out in my entire life. It was a beautiful day. He told me of all kinds of wild stories and dangerous situations that he and his closest friend, Jason, used to be a part and often the cause of. How I longed to live their lives and be right in the middle of where the action was. We spent the morning riding across the estate, and he told me had a surprise for me. When we returned, an artist named Sam Evans was waiting for me. Paul had commissioned him to make a sketch of me. He had picked out a dress for me to wear while I posed._

Knowing that time was not on his side tonight and that every odd was stacked against him, he flipped ahead toward the middle of the journal to see if anything he could find any clues. He stopped in the middle of another entry.

**_March 22, 1946 _**

_I didn't mean to make him angry. He had to know. I haven't even told Father. I begged Paul to help me. If Mrs. Stoddard finds out, my father will have to leave. All he and my mother ever knew was life inside this house, and for them, it's been good. The Collins family were so kind to him when Mama passed away. I've been so selfish! I just wanted to be happy! He told me he loved me and that I was beautiful. He said he would let me live in the house overlooking the sea, and that he would come to see me and bring me flowers and nice things. He told me I would never be lonely again. Now I have someone growing inside of me, and I've never felt more alone._

His fingers ruffled through more pages, passing over the halfway mark and stopping at a page that was folded over.

**_July 3, 1946 _**

_I'm so sorry, Father. I have brought so much misery and embarrassment to you and ruined your life. I can't take back what I've done. I don't deserve you giving up your position before Mrs. Stoddard could find out the truth. I never should have believed that he really loved me. My foolishness has destroyed us both, and it's all my fault. I won't burden you with the responsibility of taking care of my baby, and I won't even ask you to ever forgive me. I don't deserve it and I never will. I promise to take good care of wherever we live and do everything I can to make your life as happy as I can. My own happiness doesn't matter anymore. I made a bad choice, and now I have to suffer the consequences. I'm done feeling sorry for myself. I have to make this right and protect my child, even if it means that she never knows her father._

There was a five-month gap between this and the next entry. He examined closely and no pages were missing.

**_December 2, 1946 _**

_After five months of burying my thoughts, I feel like I have to let them out here. My baby girl, Victoria, is my only happiness. She's such a good baby. She's so quiet and nothing ever seems to scare her. I knitted her another romper today, but she's growing so fast after only one month! I want her to have a normal life, but I'm too scared to take her out into the world right now. I got a letter from her father today. The first one in two months. He dared me to take her out into town, and he threatened that if I did, he would hurt my father and me even worse than we have suffered since leaving Collinwood. I don't know what to do. My life doesn't matter anymore, but I can't stand thinking of Father spending his last years as a prisoner to protect me. I don't want my baby to live like this. I'm doing all I can to make our lives happy and normal, but on every happy moment walks Paul Stoddard. I don't care about what happens to me. I don't care at all to tell Mrs. Stoddard what a lying pig her husband is, but, if I did that, my father and my baby would suffer the most. My Victoria would grow up as 'that illegitimate baby that Paul Stoddard had with that servant's daughter out of wedlock.' In a small town like this, she could never be more than that. No matter how smart she'll be in school or how beautiful she will grow up to be, she'll never be rid of that shame. She deserves so much more than that._

**_December 27, 1946 _**

_"It's not fair. It's so unfair! Just when I thought I couldn't hate myself even more, now I have to give up my only reason for living. Things have gotten out of my hands. I was foolish to think I could ever beat the mighty Collins family. He came by in a drunken rage on Christmas Eve and struck me as soon as he saw me. He told me to take Victoria and leave Collinsport immediately and never return. No doubt, Mrs. Stoddard is beginning to suspect that he has been unfaithful, and he wants to cover up all trails that lead to my Victoria. He told me I had to give her up, and that she would have no one alive to raise her if I didn't. I broke my silence and told my father. He's going to meet Paul at the Blue Whale tonight. Father agreed that I should take Victoria somewhere far from here that's safe. We argued all afternoon about it, but I have to protect her until this is all settled. Father told me of a foundling home in New York that was highly praised by guests that would frequent parties and events hosted at Collinwood, and the guests often made donations __there on a regular basis. It's only temporary until this is settled. Maybe in just a few months, if that long, I can get her back, and she won't have to know what happened. Father told me that I can't say anything about who I am because it could lead back to Mrs. Stoddard, which would let Paul know where my baby is. Father suggested writing a nameless letter to keep her identity secret. How can I do this? What do I write? How cold-hearted is it to just write something as empty as:_

_"Her name is Victoria. I cannot take care of her."_

_What have I become? I've caused so much pain, and now my baby girl is paying for it. When will this all end? When will I wake up from this nightmare? I just want my father and Victoria to live happily and untouched by what I've done. Father left an hour ago, and my train leaves in thirty minutes. I can't do this. I have to, but I just can't._

He shook his head as the loud droning began to reverberate sharply in his head as vibrations of pain pulsed through his temples. Falling back against the wall, he loosened his collar as he struggled to catch his breath. Sweat poured down his forehead and blurred his vision. The words on the last page blurred in and out of focus as pain began to flare underneath his ribs and circulate throughout his body.

**_February 3, 1947 _**

_It's all over! I've won! I have evidence that Paul had Father murdered and covered it up! Mrs. Collins hired someone to follow him, and he's got nothing left but to tell her the truth! Now with my evidence of Father's murder and my baby safely far away from here, he's got nothing to hold over me! He tried to buy me off for $500 to leave town, but I knocked him to the ground! During our struggle, a notepad fell out of his pocket and he left before he knew it was gone. Everything I need is on it! He just called me here and I told him I had it! I'm on my way to Collinwood to expose this scum to Mrs. Stoddard. No threat from Paul Stoddard's mouth will stop me now. _

_To whomever may be reading this, if I didn't hand this to you in person, it probably means that something happened to me. You have to take this to Mrs. Stoddard and tell her everything for me. Please, Victoria, your Mama loves you and did the only thing she could do to keep you safe. I hope one day that you'll understand that having you in my life has been the happiest time for me, and I hope you know that I love you more than anyone in the world. Father and Mother, you always taught me to be humble and obedient all my life, but I just want you to know that your little girl, Betty Hanscombe, died a fighter._

His trembling hands opened his coat and tucked the journal inside his inner pocket. He stumbled across the floor, and the rooms swirled and spun as he passed through them. His legs shook as they struggled to support his weight. He made it to the front porch step, but he fell hard on the concrete below. Stunned from the impact, he was unable to get up. Stiles, looking over at his patron lying on the ground, jumped out of his cab and ran to him.

Holding him up and supporting him with one of his shoulders, Stiles carried the dead weight of this man's body. With a quick throw of the door, he set the ailing body of the man inside and quickly jumped back in the driver's seat. Sweating profusely and struggling to breathe, he spoke to Stiles. "Wh...where...are you...taking me?"

"I gotta get you to a hospital, Mac. I'm takin' ya the quickest way I know!" Stiles exclaimed. "I can't let nothin' happen to ya, mister! You need a doctor or you're gonna die!"

"No... You...you can't...They won't...understand. I've been drugged..." he slipped his hand inside the trench coat pocket and held the vial of Benzodiazepine as high as he could, only to drop it on the floor in front of him. "There isn't time to...take me..." His voice trailed off with a moan as he slipped into unconsciousness and stopped moving.

Stiles slammed on the brakes and looked back at the stranger sprawled out on the back seat, barely breathing and motionless. Turning back around with his eyes wide in fright, he wondered what he should do next. _Is there time to get him to the hospital all the way back in Collinsport? Why didn't he want to go?_

In the distance, a dim street light illuminated a sign on the corner:

**_Longworth's Drug Store_**

With a quick spin of the tires, the old cab barreled forward. Stiles leaped quickly from the driver's seat and ran up the steps, looking back through his backseat window to see if there was any response or movement from the stranger in the backseat. The stranger had not moved a muscle.

Banging on the door with all of his might and shouting loudly, Stiles called out the name on the sign repeatedly as he knocked. "Longworth! Mr. Longworth!"

There was no answer. He looked back and found a rock on the sidewalk in front of the lamp post. With all of his might, he hurled it toward the window above him, shattering the glass. He ran to the door again and began knocking and calling out Longworth's name, hoping that someone who could help would come.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Walking through a thick, blue fog hanging above the ground, he gazed at his strange surroundings. He stood alone in a corridor that seemed to twist into a spiral shape as he walked forward. Still dressed in his tightly wrapped trench coat with a low hanging fedora, he focused his eyes on the long corridor ahead of him. He wondered to himself, _Am I dead?_

On each side of him, he noticed multiple doors that seemed to stretch infinitely. Straining his vision to look forward, he could only see a blackness directly ahead at the end of the winding corridor. Pausing at the first door to his right, he overheard voices speaking loudly that sounded like arguing from a small child.

The boy complained, "Aunt Charity, I can't get the steps just right; it's too hard. Do we have to keep doing this old song? I hate it!"

A woman's thick southern accent echoed beyond the door. "You'll not stop until I tell you to, eh? Now, straighten up, Jerry, dear, and place your hands in mine and follow my lead. Just listen to the music while I sing along:

_"I wanna dance with you, Wanna dance my cares away..."_

He paused and found himself unable to speak. However, he remembered the next verse and mumbled it as he heard the woman continuing her singing:

_"It's always been said that life is a song, so why don't we both just dance along?_"

_I know this song, those voices—Aunt Charity?_ he leaned back from the door. _I had an Aunt Charity. She used to make me sing and dance to this same song over and over. Jerry...that name. Was that me?_

His thoughts began to race as he walked on, trying his best to remember.

Walking ahead to the next door on his left, he leaned forward and listened again.

"Father O'Brien, forgive me. Mother Superior sent me to you for being late for class again. I try to be on time, Father, I really do! Please, don't punish me!" a young boy whimpered.

"Why have you been late, Jerry?" the man sternly asked.

"I-I'm sorry." The boy reluctantly pulled a folded stack of newspaper printed comics and pointed to one in particular called Dick Tracy. "I love reading these, Father O'Brien. I get up and read them in the mornings and between classes. It's all that Aunt Charity left me before I was brought here. Mother Superior said that I needed to give them to you and not read rubbish like this. Please don't take them away! I love them! I want to be a detective and get the bad guys like he does and solve crimes and help people."

Father O'Brien got up from his desk and looked out the doorway. He walked back to where the boy was sitting. "Jerry, no matter what the excuse, there's no reason for being late. You're going to have to pay attention to the time and put more important things first. You can't let things like these comics keep you from your studies, right?"

Jerry nodded. "Yes, Father."

Looking down at the floor, Jerry frowned and placed the comic strips on the reverend's desk.

Father O'Brien followed up with his stern discipline. "What kind of detective would you be if you were late and let everything in the world distract you? What if you were on an important case and missed something important because you were being lazy and running late? What would Dick Tracy do?"

Jerry looked up, surprised by the reverend's half-hearted stern demeanor. "He would figure out where the bad guys were gonna go and always be there early because he's smarter than anyone!" he replied excitedly.

"Exactly," Father O'Brien nodded. Reaching into his desk and pulling out a scrapbook, he placed it flat on his desk. "The Bible says there's a time and a season for everything. Now, if you will be smart like Tracy is, you'll know next time that before class and before your homework is not the right time to read your comics...or these here." He slid a scrapbook toward Jerry. "This is every single Dick Tracy newspaper comic since the first one came to the Collinsport Star. Now, I'll make a deal with you. These are yours if you do what I say and put your studies ahead of everything else. If you're late one more time or your grades start to slip, I'm taking them back because I'll know that you don't want to be a serious detective like Tracy. Have we got a deal?"

Jerry stood up quickly from his chair. "Oh, boy, do we ever!" he paused. "I mean, yes, Father O'Brien. I'll do my best, sir."

Father O'Brien replied loudly and firmly so that others outside the office would hear him. "Now don't you let me catch you down here again, young man! You will be severely punished if you are late for class again. Go back to your class."

With a quick salute, Jerry called his bluff and played along. "Yes, sir!"

Leaning back from the door, he grinned as he found himself able to reminisce slightly, _Father O'Brien. I remember that guy. He was a good pal to everyone and we all liked him. He was like a big brother to me._

His grin was short-lived, however, as his focus returned to these strange surroundings. _Am I dreaming? How do I remember these things? Is this my past? Is that me? Jerry...? _

He spoke the name repeatedly_. _"Jerry...Jerry...Jerry Trask? Jerry Trask! That's it! My name is Jerry Trask!"

Overcome with joy, he felt his memories flooding back. Digging into his pockets, he ruffled through them and grabbed the gun. "This isn't mine! Someone must have put it on me! I'm a private eye, just like Dick Tracy was! I was working on a case for someone...some lady named Stoddard."

He grabbed his wallet and looked at the cash and the IOU. "This isn't my handwriting either. I never owed this person any money," he puzzled. This money, however, was something that had really struck a nerve with him all night long. There was a vague memory that he had recalled earlier about this cash when he was inside that parked sedan. His memories were returning quickly as the conversations from his past echoed behind the doors as he passed by each one.

As the many voices and memories of the past became more familiar as he passed each door, he stopped dead in his tracks as he passed by a woman's voice speaking to him:

"Mr. Trask, you know why you're here. I don't trust many people, and I was afraid to involve more of the experienced private eyes because they would want to bring unwanted attention to my family. As we discussed, I'm paying your fee first with a little extra. As soon as you come back when the job is completed, I'll reward you with a generous bonus. Don't come back here until it's done. I don't want to arouse any suspicion. You will speak with me and only me," the woman's earnest voice demanded.

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Stoddard. I'll let you know and keep it quiet, ma'am." Jerry nodded and tipped his hat. "Now where's this dame stayin' that you suspect he's foolin' around, where do you suppose she's stayin', Mrs. Stoddard?"

"I'm not sure who she is, but my husband left in the car nearly an hour ago. He's already left once today, and he left again in a hurry without saying a word to me," Mrs. Stoddard replied grimly. "Now I told you about the vehicle, and I want you to go out there and find him. Then, you are to come back to me first before going to anyone else or the police when you find out what he's doing. No matter what you find out, my life depends on your coming to me first. There are many legal matters to take care of that will affect this whole town if anyone else finds out what is going on before I do."

Trask nodded. "I understand, Mrs. Stoddard. I'll start searchin' for him right away."

"Hurry, Mr. Trask. I fear something terrible is going to happen if you don't find him quickly." Elizabeth pleaded.

He stood still in the hallway as the fog began to recede. A flicker of light became visible at the end of the hall, and he felt compelled to run towards it. Without warning, a rumbling sound shook the ground beneath him, nearly knocking him off-balance. The walls around him began to close in and the light at the hallway's end grew brighter and brighter until it was almost blinding.

Panting and running as fast as he could, he made it to the corridor's end just in time. Closing his eyes, he leaped forward into the bright light of the open doorway.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

With a loud shout, his eyes opened again and he sat up on the floor. His breathing labored and frantic, he looked all around the room where he was sitting. He was no longer in the hallway, but he found himself sitting up inside an old corner drug store. _It was a dream! _

A man with glasses and wavy light brown hair stood over him with a needle, and Stiles stood on the opposite side trying to restrain him.

"It's alright, it's alright, just take it easy, Mister," Stiles spoke as calmly as he could, but there was definitely a nervous tone in his voice. "I showed Mr. Longworth here that bottle you was holdin' and he gave ya somethin' that oughta help you out. Do you remember what happened to ya?"

"Stiles! I remember! I know who I am now. My name is Jerry Trask. I'm a private eye and I was working a case. I was following someone. I've gotta get outta here and back to Collinsport immediately!" Trask demanded. "I need you to take me there now!"

"Just hold on a moment, you need to lie still, Mr. Trask," the man with wavy hair spoke. "My name is Chris Longworth, and I'm the druggist here. You were given a near lethal dose of benzodiazepine and you had amnesia along with the effects of the overdose. Thank goodness your friend Mr. Stiles grabbed the bottle when he came to the door. I gave you a shot of Anexate, an antidote for benzodiazepine overdose. You're still going to be a little groggy for a while, probably. What I gave you should help but you really need to be checked by a doctor, Detective."

Shaking his head and rising slowly to his feet, Trask shook his head. "I appreciate your help, Mr. Longworth, but I have to get back to Collinsport quickly. Someone is already..." he paused, and thought better of telling them about the body of the woman he believed to be Betty Hanscombe. "Someone is in great danger if I don't head back. That's all I can tell you."

Chris Longworth sighed in frustration. "Well, I wish I could change your mind. Did you see who attacked you?"

Trask shook his head. "I don't know." He reached inside his coat to see if the diary was still inside. His fingers slid across the top of it, and he looked out the window behind him as the dawn of the morning sun began rising behind him. "I believe I have a good idea of who it was."

Pulling $100 from his wallet, he handed it to Mr. Longworth. "Here, Chris. If you need more, just send me the bill. Are you coming, Stiles?"

Stiles looked at the druggist and then back towards Trask. "Let's go, Detective."

The two men hurried to the cab and sped away toward Collinsport. While riding back into town, Trask opened the diary of Betty Hanscombe and looked at the last pages of her journal. His eyes were fixed on the passage he read earlier:

**_...during our struggle, a notepad fell out of his pocket and he left before he knew it was gone. Everything I need is on it..._**

Trask thought to himself. _A notepad? Where could this have been? I didn't see it on her. I need to go back and search before too many people start stirring around._

As the cab passed the city limits and into town, Trask suddenly broke the silence. "Stop here!"

With a screeching halt, Stiles slammed the brakes in the middle of the street. "What?! What is it?!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Let me out here. This is where I need to be." Trask answered. Reaching into his wallet, he grabbed the rest of the money in his wallet and handed it to Stiles. "I have no way to thank you enough, my friend. You saved my life tonight in more ways than you can know."

"Wait, you...? This is all your money! I can't take it, Detective." Stiles objected.

Trask returned a slight smile. "Well, you told me yourself that your sleep time ain't cheap, right? Enjoy the day off, my friend. Maybe when this is all over, we'll laugh about this over a drink at the Blue Whale, huh?"

Trask extended his hand, and Stiles followed suit with a firm handshake. "You've got a deal, Detective. If you need a cabbie on your next case, look me up, huh?"

Trask nodded. "You got it."

With that, the cab backfired and drove out of sight from where Trask stood. He ran down the alley where the sedan was parked outside the Blue Whale. When he came to the corner sidewalk, he noticed something on the ground that he couldn't have seen at night—two sets of skid marks. They led from the street corner all the way on the sidewalk, and were about twenty feet in length.

Judging by the direction of the markings, Trask deduced that one car was heading up the street, and another cut hit the sedan off, running the driver on to the sidewalk. There were trace pieces of metal lying on the ground from the impact of the hit. Trask ran to the sedan, which was still parked in place where he left it.

When he made his way to the front of the vehicle, he saw that there was a large scrape of paint missing from the front driver's side and a large dent. A swipe of white paint was smeared on the driver's side corner of the front bumper as well. The door was still unlocked, and Trask quickly hopped inside. The purse was lying in the floor of the passenger side where he had left it, and he looked around to see if anyone was around in the alley. With a quick look inside the bag, he saw a notepad inside. However, the pages inside were empty. Turning the pages furiously for some hint, he came up with nothing.

Trask angrily pounded his fist into the dash several times and slung the notepad into the floor. His mind raced with what his next move should be. He leaned back into the seat and took a deep breath, exhaled, and closed his eyes. The words of Father O'Brien rang through his mind: _What would Dick Tracy do?_

He looked down at the notebook again and flipped to the beginning. On the front page, there were indents from someone writing on pages that were torn out. Although he couldn't make them out, he had an idea. He searched through the purse and found what he needed—**a pencil**.

Turning the pencil tip at a slant, Trask scribbled sideways furiously all over the page. Laughing out loud as the outlines of the indents began forming words, everything that was written on the missing page in Paul Stoddard's notebook was now visible. Now, the entire plot was right in front of him. His hands shook as he read through Paul Stoddard's note.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_What a setup!_ Trask thought as he read the shaded indents.

Looking up, he saw lights beginning to shine in the windows throughout the street. Knowing that Betty Hanscombe's body was safely hidden inside the trunk, he thought it was a good idea to get out of the car quickly before he was seen inside. He opened the door and quietly shut it. Casually strolling to the street corner, he looked at the shaded-in page underneath the street lamp:

_Mrs. gave two grand to a detective and he's on to you. If we're going to score the family fortune, do as I tell you. Take Mrs.' gun and meet me at the Blue Whale. I've secured a vial of benzodiazepine. BH will pass by the Blue Whale to get here, and I'll be waiting in my car. Bring the gun and I'll kill her myself. Detective will be following you. When he comes in, dose him with benzo and plant Mrs.' gun and the IOU on him. Toss vial down the drain under the sidewalk. Detective will not remember a thing and Mrs. will be questioned and have motive as an accomplice for hiring him to kill the woman she believed you were having a fling with. With Mrs. out of the way, all assets will be turned over to you, and you'll do just as we planned-share, and share alike_

Shaking his head in shock and disbelief, anger burned deeply within him. Whoever wrote this had a heart as dark and evil as the Devil himself. He looked behind him in the direction of the parked sedan, studying the layout of the alley way. In his mind, he tried to imagine and piece together the scenario as it happened based on the time that had passed from when he awoke and based on evidence he had gathered:

**2:15 a.m. **

The sedan sped through the city limits. The destination was Collinwood. Betty Hanscombe, filled of adrenalin and determination, would stop at nothing to expose her scum ex-lover. Out of nowhere, a white vehicle comes in the opposite direction straight for her. Screaming as she swerves, the oncoming car swipes hers, running her on to the sidewalk as she slams her brakes. The assailant, wearing a hood with the eyes cut out, grabs the poor girl out of the car, covering her mouth and dragging her inside the Blue Whale.

**2:20 a.m.**

Paul Stoddard arrives inside, his face covered as well, but his voice unmistakable to her. After handing the gun to the assailant to hold Betty at bay, Paul demands that she give him the notepad. Of course, she refuses. Hell truly had no fury as this beautiful young woman scorned. Unknown to them, she had taken care of things to where, no matter if she loses her life, the truth would be delivered to Mrs. Stoddard and she would win.

"You have something that belongs to me, and I'll give you to the count of ten to give it to me." Paul sneered at her. His partner held the gun steady silently, not saying a word.

"Do you think threatening my life means anything to me, Paul Stoddard?" Betty fired back. "You've taken away my father, his life of comfort at Collinwood, and everything he worked so hard for. I'm just as guilty as you are for that, but I know you killed him and publicly shamed him! My baby is hidden away safely, and I have nothing left that can be taken from me, so your threat means nothing. Everything you've done will be delivered to Mrs. Stoddard if I live or die. All I have left is to expose you for the filthy slime you are. So do what you have to. No matter what, you've lost!"

Paul stood at a loss for words, unsure of what to do or say. The assailant holding the gun spoke quietly. "The child..."

Paul saw what his partner was leading to. Feeling a new sense of wicked determination to break her, he spoke again, his tone grim and sinister. "Yes...our daughter. You know I can find out where she is. I'll soon have all the money and the entire Collins fortune in my hands, and I plan on getting rid of every single shred of evidence of her existence. No matter what it takes or what I have to do. I will find her, but..." he smiled wickedly. "If you give me what I want, I may forget all about her. Whatever happens to that girl depends on you. Now, give it to me."

Unable to restrain herself, Betty charged toward Paul with unnatural fury. Paul ran toward her and they began to struggle. With a wild punch to the right side of his face, Betty knocked him down to the ground. Knowing that she could not be stopped, the gunman grabbed her and pushed her back across the room, sending her falling back on to one of the tables. Before she could come to a complete stand, a shot was fired that flung her body back on top of the table. Her eyes were wide open, and her lifeless body lay still on the table top.

_The gunshot!_ Trask remembered. _I heard the gunshot. That's what brought me there! I was following Paul Stoddard and ran inside the back entrance when I heard the gun fire. When I ran inside, there were two people with their faces covered who jumped me. I fought them off as best as I could, but that's the last thing I remember. That had to be around 2:45am, or so. One of them must have knocked me out cold, dragged me into the washroom, and planted the gun and IOU on me!_

Detective Trask turned in the direction of the back door. When they left in a hurry, one of them must have tried throwing the benzodiazepine vial into the sidewalk sewer drain, but didn't know that they had missed. They were in too big a hurry to get back to Collinwood.

Trask held Betty's diary in his hands as the morning sun slowly began shedding its light over the town. _Another thing they didn't count on is that Betty knew someone would find her diary and carry out her last wish for her. I can't let that beautiful young dame die for nothing. If I take this to the police first, they may not listen to me because it involves the Collins family._

Trask sighed as his shoulders shrugged. _I hate to admit it, but Mrs. Stoddard was right and needs to know first. I have to get this to her now. I have to get to her first before her husband does._

After walking past the Blue Whale and further into town, Trask noticed a phone booth inside the hotel window and went inside. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, his hand gripped the receiver tightly before picking it up. He started second guessing himself. _Should I call Collinwood first? There's been a murder! What should I do? She told me to make sure I contact her first before anyone else. She didn't know that murder would be involved, though._

His thoughts raced as he tried to calm himself and breathe deeply. After finally settling for the lesser of two evils, Trask closed the sliding door and looked around to see if anyone was watching. He decided to go with his first instinct.

"Operator?" he spoke solemnly. "It's Jerry Trask. Get me Collinwood, please."

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Seconds passed like hours as he waited for someone to answer the line. _What should I say?_

"Collinwood estate, this is Mrs. Stoddard. To whom am I speaking?" a familiar voice answered the other line.

Trying his best to contain the relief and excitement in his voice, he cupped his hand over the receiver. "Mrs. Stoddard?"

"Yes, this is Mrs. Stoddard, and who might you be?" the woman asked, puzzled as to the identity of a caller at such an early hour.

"Mrs. Stoddard, it's-it's me, Jerry Trask, the private eye you hired. It's important I gotta talk to you. There's been a..." he held the phone desperately, trying so hard to keep his voice down.

"I'm sorry, but I don't take solicitation over the telephone. I have guests staying here and I won't be bothered at such an early hour. I could arrange a meeting with you in person." Elizabeth stated firmly.

"What? Oh, I see...he's there, huh?" Trask nervously asked.

_Silence._

"Well, how's about I meet you at Widows' Hill in say, an hour or two? It's somethin' that just can't wait. If the police find the body, it ain't gonna be good for either one of us, Ma'am." Trask pleaded.

"I'll arrange to meet you at two," Elizabeth replied.

"Wait a minute...you...do you mean two as in 2:00pm, or as in two hours?" Trask stammered.

"The second." She responded.

"Okay, Mrs. Stoddard. Widows' Hill in two hours. Be sure you ain't followed. I'll see you then," he replied.

"Yes, thank you. Goodbye, ma'am," Elizabeth bluffed as the call was disconnected.

Trask left the phone booth and looked up at the clock hanging above the counter inside the hotel coffee shop. It was 7:30am. He started to ask for a cup of coffee, but he realized that he had given the last of his money to Stiles.

"Have a wild night, Mister?" A brunette appeared from behind the kitchen door and called across the room.

Startled, Trask gave a quick turn. This beautiful woman smiled at him. She stood with an apron around her slender waist and a striped uniform. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and a notepad from her apron as she spoke. "Looks like you could use one on the house. The first cup of the day always hits the hardest, and you look like you could use a good pick-me up."

Trask returned her smile. "You don't know the half of it, toots. A cup o' coffee would be just dandy."

"Well, I'll share what's in the pot with you." Shaking her head and yawning, she watched the steam rising as she poured. "I could use a good kick, too. I've been up all night, too, with my baby girl, Maggie. She's only six months old, but, boy, she can sure wail like a big girl. She doesn't like staying in her bed at all or feeling like she's being babysat. My husband Sam is an artist and likes to paint at all hours of the night, so I just tend to her myself usually." After pouring the coffee, she sat down at the table with him.

Trask raised the steaming cup to his mouth, drinking slowly. Feeling the effects of the coffee kicking him like a mule, he coughed slightly as the swallow burned all the way down. "It's, uh, it's good. Thank you, Mrs...?"

The waitress smiled. "Evans. I'm Kathryn Evans, and you're kind to say so. Most fellas that have one sip outta that first cup usually hit the ground running right out that door. I learned to make coffee pretty strong to keep Sam sobered up."

Trying to be nonchalant, he recognized that name from Betty's journal. "Yeah, I suppose so. He, uh, does he paint many personal portraits for people?" Trask inquired.

"Well, sometimes. The last time he did was for the daughter of that Collinwood servant that got killed on his way home from the Blue Whale, but that was months ago. You want me to ask him about one for you, Mister?" Kathryn tilted her head, leaning back in her chair.

"Well, maybe so," Jerry grinned. "I don't think it's a good idea to paint my picture until after I've had my coffee, but do you mind if I have the address? Maybe someday I just might show up and commission him for one." Trask nodded with a smile, thinking to himself. Here's another piece of evidence to give to Mrs. Stoddard if she wants to check into it.

Taking the pen from behind her ear again and scribbling down the address on a napkin, she slid it over to him on the table. "Here you are, sir. Is there anything else I can get for ya?" She stood up, straightening her apron.

"No, Mrs. Evans. You've been more than enough help. I've got to go meet a client for the day. It's been swell, Kathryn." Trask smiled and shook her hand. "I'll see ya around soon, and I'll give you a double tip next time. You've been very kind. Thank you, Ma'am." Tipping his hat, he walked out the door.

Looking out over the horizon, the morning sun was deceptively looming over the chilly atmosphere of the town. There over the ocean stood the pinnacle known as Widows' Hill. Taking a deep breath of the chilly sea air, he walked steadily through the streets of the town and into the woods leading to where he would come face-to-face with the dame who hired him—**Elizabeth Stoddard**.

With the sting of chilly winds blowing through the branches, Trask pressed onward, feeling determined to settle the matter. A myriad of emotions and thoughts raced about how he would begin the conversation. He felt angry at Paul Stoddard for involving him nearly seamlessly in murder. He was angry about the poor girl, Betty Hanscombe, whose lifeless body was lying haplessly inside of a car trunk. He felt sorry for the baby girl, Victoria, who was born into all this mess. She would never know her mother, and would probably have to grow up in a home just as he did when his Aunt had given him up.

He thought of his own infant son, Anthony, whom he called Tony for short. His mother, unable to bear the danger of his investigative career and demanding schedule, took little Tony away, remarrying another man whose last name was Peterson. More than ever now, as many things had gone wrong in his life, he was determined to make this right.

Although he knew that pursuing this could not fix his own past, he felt a chance at some redemption by bringing Miss Hanscombe's killer to justice. Someone had to be her voice, and he felt that he was the one. As the sun faded quickly behind gathering storm clouds, Trask's pace quickened until he found himself pacing in the woods near the summit of Widows' Hill.

Staring out over the sea, Track paused a moment. He took Betty Hanscombe's book from his inside pocket and skipped near the end. He had to do this. He looked up at the sky, his thoughts speaking directly to her. _You thought your whole life brought shame and chaos. You're setting things right now, Miss Hanscombe, and you're the hero of the whole thing. You were so much smarter than they were, and you did everything right to fix your mistake. I swear on my life that I will finish what you started._

The winds blew harshly and the sky turned the darkest mix of black and gray. In the distance, lightning crashed as the ground shook beneath him from thunder. The rain started falling steadily and trickled down the brim of his fedora hat. Within half an hour past the time that Elizabeth was to meet him, the winds started blowing fiercely, and the rustling and cracking of branches in the woods surrounding him echoed in between the quakes of thunder. Lightning crashed around the trees not too far from where he stood, Trask decided to move out toward the edge of the cliff. He felt the grip of the wind slowly moving him closer and closer to the edge of Widows' Hill.

Nervously pacing back and forth, he weighed his options for his next move. He wasn't sure what to do. The time was well over an hour past their meeting time. If he went back in to the woods by Widows' Hill, he could possibly be struck by lightning. If he stayed near the summit of Widows' Hill, the winds would surely drive him over the edge and on to the jagged rocks below. If he went to Collinwood, the case was as good as gone because Paul Stoddard would know that something was amiss.

As his hands pulled his coat together, Trask felt the press of Betty's journal across his side. Looking upward again, he knew he had to do the right thing by this poor girl. He couldn't allow her death to be for nothing. She had worked too hard and taken so many chances to bring her case to this point, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make sure everything was delivered to Mrs. Stoddard, just like Miss Hanscombe wanted it to be.

As the tide rolled back from the shore, the sound of a racing motor could be heard in the distance. Ducking for cover, Trask knelt behind a rock and watched two headlights heading quickly in the direction of the great house of Collinwood. He decided to follow them on foot since it would be difficult to see him during such a tumultuous storm.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Running furiously to keep up the pace, Trask's shoes and feet were soaked from the many puddles he splashed through. He was determined to keep the evidence as intact as possible to give to Mrs. Stoddard. When he finally reached the road where the car had stopped, he watched both car doors opening and umbrellas fanning out. Each carrying a brief case, two dark-haired gentlemen stepped out of the car and walked together toward the main entrance. As quickly as they stepped to the entrance, the large doors flung open, and they hurried inside. Something was not right about this.

Taking a deep breath, Trask decided to brave the recklessness of running to the door himself and knocking. He wasn't sure if this was something Dick Tracy would do, but regardless, it was the only thing he could do.

Thunder crashed as he faced the door and began knocking. No one was answering.

Growing frustrated from the tension of the situation, he started banging the door and calling out Mrs. Stoddard by name. No one came, but he persisted on knocking until suddenly he heard the latch being turned.

"Go away! You've no business to be here screaming and carrying on like this! If you're not gone immediately, I will have you arrested for trespassing!" a woman's voice threatened as she started to slam the door shut.

His hand forced the door back open before it shut. "Mrs. Stoddard! It's me! Jerry Trask! Remember, the private investigator you hired?" he pleaded.

"I don't care who you are, just leave me alone!" she whispered and hissed at him. "I paid you to do a job and now you're trespassing by coming here with no valid reason! Will you please leave?!" Elizabeth's eyes were frantic with panic and fear.

"Murder is a valid reason!" Trask shouted as he burst through the door past her. Elizabeth gasped as he said the word. "Yes, murder! I know all about what has happened with Paul Stoddard!"

Elizabeth cried out and turned away as the two men in suits ran out of the drawing room into the foyer where he was standing.

The elder spoke first. "Young man, you picked a poor night to come here barging in and shouting about things you know nothing about. I'm going to have you thrown into prison for trespassing and harassing my client."

Trask stood still and his heart skipped a beat. "Wh-what?! What are you talking about? She hired me to follow her husband and find evidence of his infidelity. She said he was up to something, and she asked me to find out what it was! Don't you understand? I have all the evidence here and I've seen it with my own eyes!"

The elder spoke again. "You have nothing of any consequence, and you will leave this house immediately! Matthew!"

Thinking quickly, Trask pulled Betty Hanscombe's journal from his coat and held it out. "This is what I have, sir. Paul Stoddard not only committed adultery, but also murder! I saw the body of the girl! He wasn't working alone, but he tried to frame Mrs. Stoddard and me for the murder! I have all the evidence here." From his left pocket, he pulled out the empty revolver and waved it. "And also here."

"Recognize this gun, Mrs. Stoddard? It's yours. Your husband used it to set us up for the murder of Betty Hanscombe. A murder that he committed!" Trask slammed it down on the table inside the foyer.

Everyone in the room stood stunned and silent. The two men looked at each other, exchanging worried glances. From atop the stairs, a large-framed man about thirty years old opened the door with an angry scowl on his face.

The younger of the two suits held up his hand to the man at the top of the stairs. "Matthew, wait."

Stopping dead in his tracks, the large man snarled as he looked down the stairs at Trask. His eyes were as black as coal and burned with a ferocity he had never seen before. Trask knew that, if looks could kill, his corpse would have been ice cold by now.

"Young man, give that to us," the elder replied.

Trask backed away from him defiantly. "I don't think so.

This is for Mrs. Stoddard's eyes only. I'm her private investigator, and the girl who wrote this only wanted her to see it."

"Well, we're her attorneys, Richard and Thomas Garner. You're in way over your head, Detective. Give this to us and we'll forget we saw you. Otherwise, you may find yourself drowning in the trouble that you've stirred here tonight," answered the elder attorney.

"I'm giving it to Mrs. Stoddard, and whatever she decides to do with it is up to her." Trask boldly fired back, handing both the book and the revolver to her.

Despite the thick tension inside the room and the heavy wind and rain beating against the house, Trask spoke calmly and matter-of-factly to Elizabeth as she stood still.

"Mrs. Stoddard, it's all in here. Your husband had an affair with the daughter of your servant. Her name was Betty Hanscombe, and he seduced her and fathered a child with her. Mr. Hanscombe retired so that he could get Betty and her baby away from here to a safe place and protect themselves from your husband. She has evidence here to show that Paul had Mr. Hanscombe killed a couple of months ago. He was working with someone to try and set both of us up for Betty's murder so that he would have power of attorney over the estate and the family fortune. Take a look for yourself, Mrs. Stoddard. They drugged me and planted evidence on me last night to make it look like you paid me to kill this girl."

Turning away, Elizabeth stood trembling with her head down. Trask directed his focus away from Elizabeth and spoke to the two attorneys and Matthew. "I intend to see that he pays for what he did to this girl and to you, Mrs. Stoddard. If we all work together, Paul Stoddard won't have a prayer in court."

"BUT I KILLED HIM TONIGHT!" Elizabeth shouted.

"Elizabeth! Don't say another word!" Richard Garner reprimanded her.

"What?!" Trask exclaimed. He felt as if his heart was going to explode.

"I killed Paul Stoddard myself! He was going to run away with the money and abandon Carolyn! He's dead!" Elizabeth ran into the drawing room weeping and she collapsed on the sofa. She sat up, ringing her hands and gasping for air.

Before he could move to follow after her, Trask felt two large hands grabbing him from behind and slamming him against the stone wall several times. Matthew grunted as he Trask's body was slammed against the wall repeatedly, cracking his ribs and crunching his back with each impact.

"Matthew, stop!" Thomas Garner ordered.

Trask felt as if he had been just been hit by an express train. He could feel his entire body pulsating with agonizing pain. Matthew Morgan's eyes met his only inches away, and the titan's hands held him in place so that he couldn't move away.

"Where is the body of the girl, Mr. Trask?" Thomas Garner asked.

Stunned from the impact of Matthew's blunt force, his lips pulled every muscle to try and form the words he spoke. "B-Blue Whale. In a...parked car...behind...in the...trunk..."

"Matthew, go get the vehicle. Hurry into town, get in the car, and start driving. Don't stop until you get to my office in Bangor. I'll tell you what to do from there. Go on, now." The elder Garner ordered.

Trask's limp body fell to the floor, and he groaned in excruciating pain as Richard Garner was approached toward him. "As for you, Detective, I told you to leave, but you didn't listen. You can't leave now. There's too much risk. You're going to come into the drawing room with my brother Thomas and myself, and you will not say one word unless I speak to you. Is that understood?"

Trask only glared up at him.

"Mr. Trask, I understand you are upset. There is a process, however. You want to do right by the girl, and so do I. In addition, I came to help Elizabeth. She called me in a panic, and I came. Do you know what would happen to this town if you go to the police now? The entire town would go under. Elizabeth could possibly be sent to prison, but even if she didn't, the scandal would be something to haunt her for the rest of her life. The Collins Enterprises would never recover from such a black mark, and it would be on your head, Mr. Trask. Paul Stoddard committed some heinous acts against you and Mrs. Stoddard, and also against this servant's daughter, yes, but more lives are at stake now," Richard replied coldly.

Finding a second wind from the anger swelling within, Trask stood up and faced his opponent toe-to-toe, never breaking eye contact with him. "I follow the law, Mr. Garner. Betty Hanscombe's blood was shed tonight in a gruesome murder. Forget about me, but your client was going to be framed for murder. Justice must be served and the family name cleared. The police will understand the situation, and Miss Hanscombe's death will not be meaningless while I am still alive!"

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Mr. Trask," Richard's voice softened. "I know this is hard for you. Please, I understand what you mean. If the circumstances were different, I would absolutely agree with you, and Paul Stoddard would never see the light of day again. I'd have him rotting inside the darkest prison cell this state has. Things are different now, Detective, and the situation has changed. Paul Stoddard is dead. Miss Hanscombe's death has been avenged. If you bring this to light, you will bring suffering and struggle to hundreds of families for generations to come. Parents will be unable to work and their children will suffer the consequences. I am trying to do what is right for my client and for this town. Causing the suffering and plight of hundreds of innocent families, their children, and their children's children because of one girl whose death has been recompensed is not morally or ethically right, don't you agree?" Richard's eyes met Trask's. "Do you have children of your own, Mr. Trask?"

Trask looked away and turned his back. His eyes began to sting with tears forming as he struggled to keep his composure. "Anthony...my son. His mother and I couldn't get along, and she remarried. Her husband works down on the docks for the Collins family."

Lowering his head in shame, Trask fell victim to the guilt trap that Garner was placing on him. There was no question that his son's stepfather would lose his job, and little Tony would have to suffer indirectly because of it.

Richard placed his hand on Trask's shoulder, but it was quickly shrugged off. "You understand what I'm talking about now, don't you, Mr. Trask? We must work together to do what is right. Not only for the town, their children or yours, but also for Miss Hanscombe's child as she would be summoned back here and placed in a local foster system. Elizabeth would also lose her custody of her daughter, Carolyn. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

Trask nodded. "Yeah, I know. I grew up that way myself. My Aunt Charity couldn't take care o' me, so...I know what it's like."

Richard nodded. "Alright then. The time has come for you to choose where your loyalty lies, Detective. Is it with your family and the families of this town, or is it with this girl whom you can't bring back? Now, come with me inside the drawing room. There are some things we need to discuss."

For the next half hour, Detective Trask sat quietly in the drawing room listening to the two attorneys asking Elizabeth questions and discovering the details. Elizabeth held tightly to the diary while plans were being made to control the damage that was done. As for the body of Paul Stoddard, an old friend of his, Jason McGuire, happened to be staying there at the time. Jason told Elizabeth that he had taken the body down to the deepest corridor underneath the house and buried it under the floor of an old storage room that hadn't been used in decades. Elizabeth took the key to this room and placed it on a necklace, where it would remain for what she said would be "the rest of her life."

Jason had already left the house before the attorneys had arrived, however, after Elizabeth handed over a large sum of cash for his silence and promise to never return. All that needed to be taken care of was the evidence of Betty Hanscombe's body, her diary, and Detective Trask's oath of silence.

Elizabeth handed the black book to Detective Trask. "Take this, please. I can't have her diary lying around here."

Frowning as he reluctantly took it back in his hands, Trask slipped it back into his coat. He stared sullenly into Mrs. Stoddard's eyes. "None of you are worthy to have this. As far as I'm concerned, Betty Hanscombe was the last good person to ever walk these hallways."

A sudden phone ring came from across the room.

"Don't answer it; let us handle this," Thomas explained as he and Richard ushered Elizabeth and Detective Trask out of the room into the foyer before closing the doors behind them.

Elizabeth placed her hand on the detective's shoulder and whispered, "Mr. Trask, I have to speak quickly." She opened her purse and held it toward him. "Give me the diary back. I can't expect you to trust me, but I want to keep it for myself and away from them. I'm going to find out where the child is and help her. We have many sub-companies that I can make anonymous donations through to whatever home the child is staying to see that she has the best of care. I promise you, she will be very well-cared for. I will see to it myself. I can't undo what I've done or what my husband has done, and I know I should reject the child because of him, but I can't let this child suffer because of Paul's sins with her mother. If you allow me to do this, then that poor girl will not have died in vain. You can help her by allowing me to support her child. I can't make things right or possibly ease my conscience by doing this, but it is the least that I can—"

She was interrupted by the sound of the receiver being placed back on the phone. Elizabeth turned and held her purse behind her back. Although he had no reason to trust her, Trask decided to honor Betty's last wish and give the book to her. He slipped the book inside her purse just before the attorneys emerged, looking at both Elizabeth and Trask indifferently.

"That was Matthew. He arrived at my office just now, and I gave him instructions on how we're going to handle this situation," Richard spoke, pausing when he saw Trask's lips beginning to purse. "Respectfully, of course."

This was not enough to convince Trask, but his guilty conscience maintained his silence. feeling that he had lost all right to make any decisions. Shaking his head, he walked toward the door to leave the mansion.

"Detective?" Thomas Garner called out. "Where do you think you're going? We're not finished here."

Trask turned and stared both attorneys down as he walked slowly towards them. "I'm finished here. I will never forgive myself or you for this. I didn't go through everything I did tonight to let some sleazy slime still win, even in his death. I know what I have to do, but...I don't know how long I can go through with it."

Richard Garner opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but he was interrupted by Elizabeth's stern tone.. "I think the two of you have said enough. Now give me a moment alone with Mr. Trask. You can wait for me in the drawing room. I'll only be a moment."

As the two attorneys looked at each other and nodded, they turned and stepped inside the drawing room, Elizabeth walked over to where Trask was standing by the entrance door, placing her hand on his shoulder. She pleaded with him, "Mr. Trask, please, look at me."

The detective, feeling the layers of his own stubborn will peeling away, turned and met her eyes.

Elizabeth's eyes locked deeply with his as she spoke, "I know this is difficult for you. We were both victims of Paul's, and now we have to suffer the punishment for his sins. What we're doing is horrible. We have to remember, though, going to jail means nothing to me. If that were the only consequence, I wouldn't care. Our children are involved now, and so are countless others and their families. We're suffering, yes, but we're doing what we can to protect anyone else from being hurt. Which would you be able to live with, Detective? Knowing that her death has been avenged and leaving her to rest in peace, or knowing that you have put more innocent people through unbearable hardships by destroying their lives and hopes for their generations to come? No matter what you do, it won't bring her back. What you can do is to help her child, Detective. She is still here, and she is still alive."

Unable to hold it back any longer, a tear rolled down Trask's right cheek.

"All I can do is plead with you," Elizabeth continued. "Not as a scornful wife or business woman, but as a mother—please help me to help this baby, and please don't hurt my daughter Carolyn by going to the police. She's all I have now. Please don't take her away from me. The choice is all up to you, and I can't ask you for anything other than to do what's right, Mr. Trask."

The loud roar of another vehicle approaching filled the foyer, causing them both to look toward the door as both attorneys made their way back into the foyer.

Richard was first to speak. "I have arranged for the car to take you to Augusta tonight, Mr. Trask, and you must leave right away. You'll be put in a safe house until this blows over."

"Wait a minute, what about my son?" Trask's angry voice boomed throughout the foyer. "You can't keep me from saying goodbye to him and seeing him before I go!"

"Detective, you can't. You'll see him very soon, and you may write as many letters to him as you want once you get there. Right now, though, we can't take any chances on you being seen or this may blow the whole cover. It's only temporary." Thomas assured him. "You have my word."

Trask huffed and rolled his eyes at that statement. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Mr. Trask?" Elizabeth called as she watched the detective making his way toward the door. "Thank you."

Without saying a word or looking back at her, Trask walked forward and shut the door behind him.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Trask walked out to the car, opened the door, and sat in the back. The driver never spoke, and he couldn't see his face. The darkness of the cloud-covered evening sky made it very difficult to see out the window or in the driver's seat. There was a tinted glass separating Trask from the driver, and, as hard as he tried, he was unable to make out the driver's face.

For nearly an hour, he rode in absolute silence, mulling over everything he had gone through and thinking about Betty Hanscombe. He couldn't believe that all he had been through had come to this. He tried so hard to rationalize every decision that he had made, and with every feeling of solace, he would second-guess himself.

Trask internalized his reasoning and thought to himself, _Betty is dead, and nothing will change that. All of her careful planning and evidence was aimed at protecting her child and exposing the deeds of her murderer. Luck was finally turning on my side until Mrs. Stoddard carried out Paul's death sentence by her own hands. Is it better this way? I mean, he certainly was punished much faster than the system could have done, and he got what he deserved. So does this mean that Betty still won? Did I help her to win?_

He sighed and slunk back in his seat, still trying to muddle through his thoughts. _Mrs. Stoddard and I made an agreement to protect and help her child, Victoria, as long as I kept her secret. If I broke that secret now, then Victoria wouldn't even have a chance in life. All of her mother's fears would come true. She'd grow up just like Betty said, as "the illegitimate sin child that Mrs. Collins' husband had with that servant girl". I don't know. Maybe it's better this way. I just...I just don't know what's right anymore._

Suddenly, the car came to a screeching halt on an old dirt road. His eyes wide with alert, Trask pressed against the glass, demanding an answer. "Why are we stopping? What's going on?"

The driver spoke, but never turned around. "Get out. I have to go into town to add fuel, and you're gonna wait here. No one will see you here, and don't you be leavin' this spot. I'm comin' back for you."

Trask paused, but the driver persisted. "I don't ask twice. Get out now, and I will return for you in fifteen minutes. Don't even think about runnin' away, Detective."

With a quick pull of the lever, Trask exited the vehicle and stood on the dark road with his hands in his pocket. He watched the large car turn and drive back the way they had come. The driver's hat and darkening sky hid his face well as he quickly pulled ahead and drove out of sight.

Night had fallen, and Trask could barely strain to see his hand in front of his face on this back road. There were no lights, passing vehicles, or anything to help him see around him. He fumbled around his pockets to try to find the flashlight, but with no success. He figured it probably had fallen on the ground when he ran towards Collinwood during the storm. Pacing back and forth in the chilly night rain, he kept waiting for the car to return. Ten minutes went by extremely slowly.

In the distance, he heard the sound of a car racing in his direction. It was a large black sedan shaped exactly like the one behind the Blue Whale. The vehicle was speeding toward him like a bullet. The bright beams came to life, blinding him to where he couldn't see which direction to run.

With a quick turn, Trask ran forward as quickly as he could. The revving of the engine grew louder as he ran, and he knew he had nowhere to go. As quickly as he could, he dove to the right into the high grass to escape the oncoming vehicle, but the driver's reckless speed proved too much for him.

With a loud crash, Detective Trask's body was flung high into the air over the hood of the car and rolled over on to the rock-covered dirt road beneath him. Barely conscious or able to move, he struggled to drag his bloodied body across the road as the car turned back toward him. Nearly every bone in his body had to be broken, and, as hard as he tried, he was unable to pull himself out of the path of the oncoming car.

Suddenly, the brakes squealed to a screeching halt only inches away from where he lay. He tried as hard as he could to cry out, but his lungs had collapsed and breathing was difficult to do. The car shut off, and he heard the car door opening. The trunk popped open, and footsteps trailed to the back of the vehicle. After the trunk was slammed shut, the sound of metal scraping against the ground sent a shiver through his broken body.

Boots covered in thick mud made their way around to where he lay helplessly, and a loud voice erupted from the driver's mouth, "I ain't gonna let ya ruin Missus Stoddard's life, Detective. I-I'm sorry to have to do this to ya b'cause it ain't your fault and I know ya was tryin' to help her and all, but there ain't no other way to make sure ya don't go back on your word. I gotta protect her and I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to her. I promise, I'll make it real quick so ya don't suffer no more."

Trask managed to gaze upward and focus his blurred vision on the man's face.

_M-Matthew...?_

Matthew looked down at him. "I'm sorry that all your hard work came to this, but before ya die, I just wanna say sum'n to you. You did a real good job helpin' Missus Stoddard, and the girl, too. Ayuh. You protected her and did all ya could to keep that baby safe by keepin' her away from here so no trouble would come to Missus Stoddard. She'll grow up better away from here than she would've here in Collinsport. So you can die a proud man with no regrettin' anything. You're a good man, Mr. Trask, but I'm sure ya understand why I have to do what I hafta. So just close your eyes and...it'll be done real quick like."

Matthew raised an axe high into the air, taking a deep breath. Feeling the life fading from him already, Trask closed his eyes and focused on the falling rain.

In his last moment, his thoughts dwelled on the smiling face of Betty Hanscombe, happy that he was able to succeed in honoring her last hopes and wishes for her daughter, Victoria. Although his plans were completely sabotaged by circumstances that no one could have predicted, just like hers had been, he felt satisfied that the end had justified the means. Betty's murderer was dead, and Victoria could grow up free from this nightmare and this awful town. As he struggled to inhaled one last gasp as deeply as he could, he thought of his son, Tony. Inside, he felt content and at peace.

Seconds later, his view became instant darkness as the weapon delivered the final blow, silencing him forever.

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The morning sun rose over the bustling town of Bangor as the two Garner brothers carried their brief cases and made their way into the office building after returning from Collinsport the night before. The storm had subsided, and, for the most part, everything was business as usual.

Richard and Thomas entered their office and sat down at their desks. Within minutes, a buzz sounded through the intercom speaker. "Yes, Marie?" Thomas answered.

"A man here requesting to see both of you. He won't tell me who he is or why he's here, but he's demanding to see you personally." Marie replied in a slightly annoyed tone. "I told him that he needed to make an appointment, but he won't listen to me or leave. Want me to call security?"

The brothers looked at each other for a moment, and Richard spoke. "That's fine, Marie. Send him back here. I think I know who he is. He's harmless and just very shy. I spoke with him over the phone yesterday. Tell him we'll see him now."

"Okay, Mr. Garner. He's on his way," the secretary answered.

Within seconds, the office door opened and a large, stocky man wearing a flannel shirt and faded denim pants walked inside. Dirt and mud covered his shoes and tracked onto the carpet with each step he took. He stood there quietly, nervously rubbing his hands together.

"Matthew Morgan." Thomas acknowledged him.

"Ayuh." Matthew looked down at the floor. "I-I did just as ya told me to, sir. He ain't gonna say nothin' about Missus Stoddard no more; I made sure o' that. I passed him on that road just like ya told me to, and I run over him. Didn't kill him at first, but...I killed him with one o' my tools from the shed and buried 'im out in that field by the road. Hated doin' it to him because he was a real good man and all for helpin' Missus Stoddard, but...I know what ya said and did what I had to do. He was too dangerous to be livin' with secrets like that, and I don't think he woulda liked livin' the rest of his life that way."

Richard stood and walked over to Matthew. "Don't say anything else, Matthew. The less you say the better. Now tell me two things. First, where is the car?"

"Took it to a mechanic in town. Told him I hit a deer on the road last night. He said it should be fixed by this afternoon." Matthew answered.

"Okay, and second." Richard lowered the volume and tone of his voice. "Where is the body of the girl?"

"Well, I buried his body right next to hers last night out in that field. Nobody'll find'em there. Ain't nobody goes down that way no more, and they sure 'nough won't be lookin' out in that field for anything." Matthew replied, looking up at Richard.

"Alright, Matthew. You did well. Now, exactly what are you going to tell Elizabeth when you get back?" Thomas questioned.

"That I took care of the car, gave the girl a peaceful burial, and helped set the detective up in a nice place to live outside of Augusta." Matthew looked down again as he spoke.

"And...?" Thomas prompted him.

"And that I'll do all the runnin' of the place and everythin' that she needs done outside of the house. She'll never have to leave the house ever again, and her secret's safe with me to my grave. I'll take care o' things for her." Matthew stated boldly.

Richard looked at Thomas, nodding his head. Pulling open a desk drawer, Thomas pulled out a checkbook and started writing.

"With all due respect, Mr. Garner," Matthew interrupted, making his way toward the desk where Thomas sat. "I ain't interested in your money. My only interest is Missus Stoddard. I ain't like the two o' ya that only take care o' her because she's payin' ya to. I do what I do just b'cause I care about her, and I'd do it all over again for nothin'. So you can keep your money. I don't want no part of it. I'm going back to Collinwood now. Our business is done."

The two men watched Matthew leaving without saying a word, shutting the door behind him. As he walked back into town to the mechanic shop, he paid the money for the repairs and started home quickly.

As he parked the car outside of Collinwood, he walked inside the door of the mansion. Elizabeth was sitting in the drawing room, holding her baby girl, Carolyn, in her arms. Matthew, not wanting to disturb her, started walking up the stairs.

"Matthew?" Elizabeth called to him.

Pausing on the stairs, Matthew replied before turning around to go back into the drawing room. "Yes, Missus Stoddard. What can I do for ya, ma'am?"

"I just spoke with Richard on the phone, and he told me about what happened." Elizabeth stood to her feet, still holding Carolyn in her arms.

"Ma'am?" Matthew looked puzzled, wondering what she had been told.

"That you and Detective Trask gave the girl a proper burial, and that the detective will be staying near Augusta." Elizabeth answered.

"Oh, ayuh...that's what happened, alright. I didn't want to bother ya with the details o' things, but I'm glad ya heard from him first. Ya don't hafta worry about nothin' no more." Matthew looked down at the floor, not sure what else he should say. "Well, I...I guess I'd better be headin' to work now, Ma'am. If you'll excuse me." Matthew nodded his head respectfully toward Elizabeth.

"Oh, Matthew? I've spoken to Richard and Thomas concerning another matter—the old cottage on the estate. I want you to live there. You've earned more than you bargained for, and I would feel much safer if you were there and could watch the house for me. It's much more fitting for you than a guest room here in the house." Elizabeth said, trying her best to muster a smile for him.

"I appreciate it, Ma'am, but I...I would like to be closer to..." he paused, hesitating to reveal his true feelings. "Here inside the house so I could be closer to the two o' ya in case somethin' were to happen or someone would go snoopin' and pryin' around the house."

"Matthew, I will be fine, and so will Carolyn. I would feel much safer if you would let me stay here with her, and you take the cottage. I've already spoken to the attorneys and the paperwork is being drawn." Elizabeth told him. "Please, you would be helping me feel better and more secure for being able to do a favor for you in return."

Matthew turned and nodded. "Yes'um. I'll get started on movin' in right away. You're too kind to me, Missus Stoddard. I ain't deservin' of such a nice place, but I thank ya. I'll take real good care of it, and I'll take real good care o' the two o' ya."

Elizabeth smiled. "I know you will, Matthew. I trust you."

Matthew nodded and gave a half smile to her. "Thank you ma'am...well, good day, Missus Stoddard."

Walking back toward the upstairs, Matthew left Elizabeth and Carolyn alone in the drawing room. While he was moving all of his things in from his guest room to the cottage, another man was beginning to start a new life of his own by the docks of Logansport.

A thin, young Irishman in his early twenties was boarding a freighter headed for Europe. As he made his way to the starboard side, he looked back in the direction of Collinsport, scowling as he thought to himself:

_I gave you a simple plan, did all the dirty work, even pulled the trigger and murdered that girl, and ya still nearly ruined us by dropping that vial I gave ya! We coulda been swimming in your wife's money right this moment, but ya had to go and louse things up, Paul Stoddard. I'm going off on me own, now. There's big scores waiting for me out there, but someday I'll be back here to claim what you failed to deliver. When I come back, I'll have something more valuable than anything else in this world—all the secrets. Soon enough, Collinwood will have a new master, and his name will be Jason McGuire!_

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


	14. Epilogue

_**EPILOGUE**_

**June 27, 1966 **

Elizabeth moved quickly in her black dress to the ringing phone. "Yes? Richard, I told you that I..."

"It's not too late to change your mind, Liz. My brother Thomas would be rolling in his grave if he knew you were doing this. Please, send her back home. You know that you're only setting yourself up for—" Richard argued.

"I told you what I am doing is none of your concern, and my decision is final. It's been eighteen years, and now that the money has stopped, she will be coming here to serve as governess for David. She was highly recommended and I think it's in her best interest as well as David's to bring her here. I made a promise to take care of her, and this is the way it's going to be. Never call me about this again."

Elizabeth slammed the phone down before Richard could respond. She walked to the drawing room window, staring out into the night sky overlooking Widows' Hill. Her fingers on her left hand slid nervously across the pearl necklace she wore.

The doors to the drawing room opened, and a middle-aged man dressed in a gray suit walked inside. Before saying a word, he made his way to the brandy decanter and poured himself a snifter. Making his way toward Elizabeth, he paused at the crackling fireplace and stared at her while taking a drink.

"A watched pot never boils," he said sarcastically as he took another drink. "To coin a phrase."

"Don't you think you ought to look in on your son?" Elizabeth retorted.

"The little monster's asleep, and I'm delighted." With that, he finished his drink. "I choose my words with infinite precision."

"Roger, you're a fool!" Elizabeth chastised him.

"Not one-tenth the fool you are, my dear." Roger responded back condescendingly. "Look at you, staring out the window into the night, waiting for someone who should have never been asked to come here in the first place!"

"She'll work out very well, I'm sure!" Elizabeth fired back, still looking outside and waiting for her guest to arrive.

"Doing what? Holding my little son's hand? Comforting you when the shutters creak? Elizabeth, with all our ghosts, we don't need any strangers in this house and you know it." Roger turned back, glaring at his sister.

"I think I can be the judge of that." Elizabeth defended.

"But you don't even know the girl! Elizabeth, I'm your brother and I'm thinking only of your own welfare. Why bring somebody all the way from New York to do something we're perfectly capable of doing ourselves?" he bickered.

Angrily, Elizabeth turned toward Roger. "Because I choose to do so!"

"Oh, come to your senses, Elizabeth!" Roger turned away and paced back toward the middle of the room. "When the girl arrives, give her a month's salary and tell her to go back to where she came from."

Elizabeth turned and swallowed a lump in her throat, sighing heavily and realizing the irony in Roger's words.

"Why not just throw open the doors and let the whole town come trooping through the doors and be done with it?" Roger walked toward her again, raising his voice.

Tearing herself away from the window, Elizabeth brushed by her brother. "The girl will stay!"

Grinning naively, Roger knew he was getting under his sister's skin. "You're a fool, Elizabeth. Yes, you are. Inviting problems to..."

"The only problem I've invited is standing before me at this moment. I have asked Miss Winters to come here and she'll stay!" Elizabeth interrupted.

Saying nothing, Roger grinned mockingly and held his glass high to taunt her as she turned to leave the room. As Elizabeth entered the foyer, Roger moved the doors back behind her. In frustration, he squeezed the glass in his hand, shattering it into pieces on the floor.

A loud knock echoed throughout the foyer. Elizabeth made her way to the large wooden doors. Opening the doors, she stood staring for a moment at the beautiful young girl with black hair standing outside holding her worn coat together with one hand and a briefcase in the other. This girl's resemblance to her mother was nothing short of remarkable, and Elizabeth marveled at the resemblance.

The young girl, trembling from the cold night air, nervously introduced herself. "I...I'm Victoria Winters. Is Mrs. Stod—"

Elizabeth interrupted her and backed away, allowing the girl to enter. "Come in, Miss Winters."

Victoria shivered as she walked inside and set her briefcase on the floor. Elizabeth closed the doors behind her and watched the girl curiously walking back and forth, taking in the sight of the mighty house with great wonder.

Struggling with everything in her to keep from speaking the words, Elizabeth looked on in nervous anticipation, thinking to herself:

_Welcome home, Victoria._

**_(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)_**


End file.
